


The Privilege of Being Yours

by earthseraph



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dom/Sub, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom!Steve, Don't Ask Don't Tell, M/M, Presumed Killed In Action, Sub!Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24058132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: In a Dom/Sub society Bucky lost the love of his life at war.Now, almost a decade later, Natasha proposes a courtship between an elusive friend of hers and Bucky.Will Bucky accept the offer? Is it someone from his past?(Or: The one where Bucky's a firefighter just trying to live his life, Natasha is a little trigger happy, and Steve is supposed to be dead.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 23
Kudos: 141





	1. Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no write! 
> 
> It's been a minute (over a year) since I've posted anything and I decided with my undergrad career over (woo) there's no time like the present to post some new fic.
> 
> Of course, all mistakes are my own. Half of this fic is written so expect weekly updates :)

“How old are you?”

Bucky sighs from where he kneels lacing up his work boots, “Thirty, you know that, why?”

Natasha shrugs, her full attention on the nail she’s filing, “Don’t you think it’s time we—”

“I swear to god if you start talking about getting me a suitor I’m gonna burn all your favorite clothes.” He knows he could make it look like an accident, he has both the talent and skill to execute it perfectly. 

She looks up from her nails, narrowing her eyes, “You know as your Dom by law I could punish you just for saying that.”

He grins sweetly at her, finishing the lace on his boot, “But you won’t, and you know I don’t work that way either.”

With a purse of her lips she sighs and sets the nail file down in front of her, “James, it’s way past time for you to get a Dom of your own. One that isn’t a family member.”

Bucky knows full and well there’s good reason behind her words. She doesn’t just want to ship him off to somewhere he doesn’t know or make money off his bachelor status. She wants him to be happy with someone that can fulfill his needs in every way possible, but that scares him. And he’s not man enough to admit that.

He’s also been waiting. It’s been years since he last saw _him_ , years since a mission gone wrong, but there’s always been hope in his heart that they both made it out. 

“I could just file for emancipation.” He says instead, Natasha doesn’t know about what happened in the sandbox. She never got that side of him before his parents died and he was passed on to her. He stands up from where he was kneeling on the floor, “I’m old enough, I have a job, and it’s legal now for a Sub to live their own life without a Dom.”

She stares at him, blue eyes boring into his soul, “If that’s what you want. File and I’ll sign the papers.” She says it like a threat, almost betting him to do it, “If not, I know someone who would be a good Dom for you.” 

Bucky doesn’t even get the chance to push for more information. Natasha raises a manicured eyebrow in his direction, gets up from the couch, and goes into her bedroom. 

He stares at her closed door, heat churning in his gut at the idea that there’s someone out there that could be his Dom. He feels guilty for wanting it and it’s ridiculous. There’s nobody in his life, there hasn’t been for almost a decade, but he still remembers distinct blue eyes and blond hair. The offer though, to have a Dom that isn’t family, to finally have someone, it’s tempting, and Natasha knows it. It makes him feel tingly under his skin.

He clears his throat and shakes his head. He’s going to be late for work.

* * *

“Ready for this 48 hour shift?” Carol asks, bumping him on the shoulder with hers. She has a wide smile on her face, aviators covering her eyes.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, “You’re way too peppy for this, it’s gonna be forty-eight hours of boring.” Not that he wants a house to burn down, but a small kitchen fire could be fun. 

“Maybe we’ll actually get to save a cat from a tree,” She shrugs, shoving her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, “I’ve always wanted to do that.” 

“Your cat never climbed up a tree?” Personally, Bucky’s never had to save a cat from a tree. At this point, five years into his firefighter career, he thinks cats getting caught up a tree to the point they need to save them is a myth created by the media. He’s also well aware this is New York City, a cat getting caught in a tree would be a feat of nature since trees don’t seem to exist here. 

Carol lowers her aviators, looking at him from above the rim, “Goose never goes up a tree she can’t get down.”

Bucky raises his hands, “Didn’t mean to offend Miss Goose, send her my apologies.”

Carol sniffs, pushing her shades back up, “She’ll take that apology in the form of catnip or treats.”

“Next time I go over I’ll be sure to pay up.” Bucky chuckles, leaning back against the firetruck he’s working on. He wipes his hands with a dirty towel and clears his throat, “Can I ask you something?” There’s a flutter of butterflies in his stomach, guilt deep in his soul, and embarrassment tinging his cheeks.

Carol frowns, crossing her arms over her chest, “What’s eating at you?”

He toes at a tire stain on the ground, not wanting to meet her eyes, “How old were you when you, ya know, _Bonded_?” 

“Oh,” She says, taken aback. They don’t talk about private stuff at work, “I thought it was going to be something so much worse.” She lets out a chuckle, obviously reorienting her emotions, “I was nineteen, I think, fresh out of Air Force boot camp.”

He ignores the frown that wants to cross his lips about what could have been, about Natasha’s comment on his age. He needs to stick to his guns about things, now more than ever.

“Maria and I meet in the Force,” She grins continuing, her face lighting up at the thought of her wife, “bypassed the secretive courting bullshit, ignored the customs, and married each other at a drive through chapel in Vegas one weekend when we were stationed in Nevada.” Her grin fades a little as she shrugs, “Of course after that they separated us into different units and we didn’t really get to do the whole honeymoon, kinky sex, setting rules thing until we both were discharged, but we’re unconventional like that.”

Bucky knows of Maria, he’s seen her once or twice around the station, but he never truly heard about Carol’s relationship with her until now. It makes him happy, despite the tinge of sadness and jealousy that some people made it out with their partner. It’s not Carol or Maria’s fault that things happen and sometimes the IED is too hidden even for a bomb sniffing dog to notice. 

Carol shrugs again, “And now we’re like an old married couple. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason.” He smiles at her, hoping she’s convinced that he really has no other reason for asking about her bonding other than pure curiosity, “You should introduce me to Maria one day, gotta meet the lady turning Captain Danvers to goop.”

She slaps his shoulder, “Hush, you’ll know how I’m feeling when you find someone too.” It’s like a lightbulb goes off in her head, her eyebrows raising above the rim of her aviators, “Are you considering...?” She trails waving her hand around.

The jig is up.

“I don’t know,” Bucky answers honestly, “I could just emancipate.”

Carol sighs, and clasps Bucky on the shoulder with the hand she was just waving around, “If you really wanted to emancipate you’d have done it a long time ago. Don’t jump into it just because your Dom may have found someone for you but also don’t disregard the opportunity. Consider it.”

With that, she squeezes his shoulder and turns on her heel to walk away. He reminds himself that she doesn’t know the whole story, that her making it sound that easy is because she only knows the half of it.

Bucky sighs and goes back to working on the fire engine. It’s a routine oil change, nothing complicated, but he likes the repetition of tasks like these. 

He knows, to society, he’s up there in age when it comes to being a desirable Sub. Most families choosing a Sub for their Dom want someone in their early twenties, preferably a virgin. They want someone who has an easy job, one that won’t take the Sub’s focus away from the Dom. In regard to physique for a male they want someone who errs more on twink, maybe even a tunk but that depends on how old-fashioned the family is. 

For Bucky’s part, he’s none of these things. He’s thirty, he’s definitely _not_ a virgin, his job is his life, his job is dangerous, and he’s built like a brickhouse. He’s not going to roll over for a Dom that just wants to get off, he’s not going to act like he doesn’t have demons or nightmares. He’s an army veteran, and now a firefighter, he’s not about to give any of those titles up. 

He’s not sure who Natasha found that she thinks would be good for Bucky. He doesn’t even know how she was able to convince someone that he’d be a good Sub for them. But it’s Natasha, his cousin by blood and Domme by law. He’d trust her with his entire life. 

The prospect of a Dom is nice. It makes him feel guilty to imagine it—being with someone else other than the one from the past. He needs to move on, and he needs to trust Natasha. Some good can come from this, he just need to tap into his Sub-side and give up control for a little bit. Let Natasha take the reins and let Natasha decide for him for once.

Bucky shakes his head, looking at the bright red of the truck in front of him. He needs to focus.

* * *

Bucky wakes with a start, the feeling of someone else on his bed alerting him to open his eyes. He blinks a couple of times, allowing his eyes to adapt to the darkness. 

“Wha—”

“One of the engines in the bay has a flat,” It’s Carol, “nothing urgent but can you take care of it now?” Her voice is low, obviously taking into account the other sleeping bodies around them.

Bucky sits up, rubbing the sleepy out of his eyes, “What time is it?” 

“Just after three in the morning,” She says casually, as if it’s not an ungodly hour to be woken up, “I’ll meet you downstairs.” She slaps him on the shoulder before getting up from his bed, ending the conversation before Bucky could push for more information. 

He groans as he swings his legs over the side of his bed, rubbing his entire face with one hand. 

“Sucks for you,” the body to his right whispers. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “At least my job’s useful,” he teases, “all you can do is make sure the lights work.”

He hears Scott huff from under his cover and counts it as a win. 

Bucky doesn’t get dressed in full gear. He doesn’t even change into a Brooklyn Fire shirt, just shoves his socked feet into the tennis shoes by his bed and makes his way down to the engine bay. 

He looks at the tires of the first engine he encounters, squinting, “Danvers, which engine had the flat?” He raises his voice making sure he’s loud enough she can hear him, but not too loud that he’s going to wake up everyone else, “I’m not seeing one over here.”

“Over here!” Carol yells from the other side of the bay, obviously not caring as much as he does about who is or isn’t sleeping. 

Bucky follows her voice to the other side of the bay, keeping his eyes on the tires he can see. He can’t tell that there’s a flat right off the bat, but he also can only see a handful of the tires. With a frown on his face Bucky says, “Which tire is it?”

“None of them ya dummy,” Carol says, huffing, “you think I’d wake you up in the middle of the night for no reason?”

Bucky finally looks up, about to ask what’s going on when the question dies on his tongue. Standing next to Carol is a bemused looking Maria, her hair still cropped short like the last time he saw her. 

“Oh,” he says when nothing better comes to mind, “Maria.”

Maria chuckles, sticking her hand out for Bucky to shake, “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” He gives her hand a good shake, dropping it to look at Carol, “I’m still a little confused why I’m here.” The first thought he has is maybe Maria has a flat and decided to come to him, but then he remembers they actually don’t know each other and Maria’s an engineer for the Air Force. Like hell does she need him to change a tire for her. 

Carol rolls her eyes, “I’m going to blame you being this slow on the fact that it’s three in the morning and you weren’t expecting to be awake.”

He’s about to protest that he can be quick on his feet at any given moment, whether he expects it or not, when Carol keeps talking. 

“You were asking about our relationship earlier,” She starts, looking at Maria with the most lovestruck expression Bucky’s seen since his parents, “and I know you’re considering one, so when Maria came over, I thought why not introduce the two of you!” 

Maria smiles at him, “I think what she means is, why not let you ask another Sub some questions about getting into a relationship before actually committing it one.”

“Are you the…” He flicks his eyes from Maria to Carol, then back to Maria, “… Sub?” He doesn’t know why the word was stuck in his throat, or why he felt so embarrassed saying the one word in front of a coworker. It’s a part of life, it’s engrained in their society, nothing to be embarrassed of or ashamed over. 

Maria chuckles, it’s nice and almost deep, “Lord knows Carol would never submit to anyone. So, yes, I am the Sub.” 

Carol grins, it’s all teeth, “And she’s _my_ Sub, which makes it even better.”

Maria snorts, rolling her eyes, “Yes, Carol, literally everyone knows that.”

Bucky watches the ease in which they interact with each other. There are no defining features of either of their status. Maria isn’t kneeling at Carol’s feet, she isn’t waiting her turn to talk, she doesn’t hang on her Dom’s every word like it’s the law. They just… work. It’s not that he hasn’t seen a healthy relationship before, he has. He was part of one, once upon a time. It’s just different seeing something similar to it, different in a good way.

“So,” Maria continues, not noticing Bucky’s mental poetry waxing about their relationship, “what’s up?”

She asks it like they’ve been friends for years and they’re catching up over drinks. Not like they just meet at three in the morning beside firetrucks. Somehow, despite this being their first encounter with each other, Bucky trusts her. 

“My legal Domme,” he starts, “said she found someone that would be a good Dom for me.” He flicks his eyes at Carol whose face has changed from lovingly goofy to serious and ready to listen, it relaxes him, “I don’t know if I want to commit to that. I could just emancipate. I got a lot of baggage.” 

He lost a person he considered the love of his life to an IED, during a time being out could get him discharged. His parents died in a freak accident not far after that. He gets nightmares from his day job and army past. 

“I just don’t know.” He finishes with a sigh, looking at the tire closest to him. He crosses his arms over his chest as a way to protect himself from everything around him. 

“I think being afraid comes with the territory of going through a traditional claiming,” Maria touches his arm gently, her voice soft, “do you trust your legal Dom?”

Bucky’s eyes flick up to Maria’s, “With my life.”

“If you trust them that much then why not trust them with this?”

It’s not a groundbreaking thought, but one he needed to hear someone else say. If he trusts Natasha as much as he says he does, as much he feels that he does, then why not trust her to this? 

“I also—” Bucky takes in a deep breath, crossing his arms, “I lost someone overseas. IED.”

Both Maria and Carol’s eyes widen before they school their expressions. 

“And this person,” Maria begins slowly, like she’s worried she’ll say something wrong, “was important enough that you would have considered them your Dom?”

Bucky swallows back a lump in his throat. It’s been months, maybe years, since he’s talked about it. Only his therapist and some of the people down at the VA know, his family and friends do not. 

“He was supposed to be my Dom, we had decided then and there.” He gives them a watery smile, “We were a month away from being discharged.” Only one of them should have been out on the field, it should have only been Bucky.

“Oh Bucky,” Carol says softly, it’s the first time he’s heard this tone from her, “I’m so sorry.”

He knows she must be thinking about her and Carol, about what she would have done in this situation. “No need, wasn’t your fault.” It was worn out dogs, bad intel, and a self-sacrificing idiot. He can’t go back, he can’t change anything about the past, but God knows he keeps thinking about it.

“Your Dom would want you to be happy,” Maria says, her hand resting gently on his shoulder, “if finding a new Dom, committing to a new relationship, will do that for you then you need to follow it. You can’t chase after the past, no matter how much you want it to be the present.”

Her words are simple but striking. They warm him down to his core and try to patch up the aches and pains that live there. They don’t completely change his outlook but give him a small push.

Bucky covers Maria’s hand with his own, giving her his softest smile, “Thank you, I needed to hear that.”

“Besides,” Carol says, breaking the moment, obviously not good around sentimental emotions, “if your potential suitor hurts you in any way or form, we know more than one way to get rid of his body without anyone finding out.”

Both Maria and Bucky snort. He gives Maria’s one hand a final squeeze before stepping back, “Can I go back to sleep now?” He’s opened up too much of his soul tonight, he needs to go back to his bed and stitch it back up.

Carol waves him off, “I banish you to your very sucky bed.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “It was nice meeting you, Maria. You’re way too good for Danvers.”

He turns on his heel quickly, fleeing the scene before Carol can protest. 

When he gets to his bed he lays, staring at the ceiling. Just the idea of a potential suitor sends butterflies to his stomach and warmth to his groin. The idea that he could please someone, submit to someone, warms his bones. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his body, and exhales slowly. 

He needs to talk to Natasha.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So,” Riley starts, licking his fingers, “what’s this about you trying to settle down?”
> 
> Steve looks between Riley and Sam “When did Sam even have a chance to tell you? I’ve been here the entire time.”
> 
> “Dude,” Sam snorts, waving his phone at Steve, “there’s this little thing called texting, it’s like talking to someone but silent and in text form.”

There’s paint drying in his nails and on his clothes. The scent of acrylic fills his nostrils, and he could not be less happy with the painting in front of him than he is now. 

“I don’t think it’s working out,” Steve says, frowning.

“Can I get up?”

Steve nods, sliding off his stool to take a step back from the painting. He hears a rustle of cloth as Sam wraps a sheet from the sofa around his bare body. 

“Dude,” Sam says, the eyeroll in his voice obvious, “it looks fine. Like a super colorful, abstract version of me.”

The frown is still on Steve’s face, “It’s all those things, but it’s not fantastic. I want it to be fantastic.” He looks over at Sam who’s actually rolling his eyes this time, “Sorry for making you pose for me for three hours.”

“I mostly just laid there, no big deal.” Sam shrugs, leaning to stare at something on the canvas, “Though, I think you’re too familiar with my penis at this point.”

Steve laughs, wiping his hands on his pants, “Don’t worry, painting it from a far is as close as I want to get to it.”

Sam snorts, shuffling over to the couch to put his clothes back on, “I heard something from a little birdy.”

“Oh?” Steve says, taking the cup of dirty water and brushes to the sink, “What did this little birdy tell you?” 

Sam gets up from the couch, jumping a little to get into his jeans, “That you’re looking for a Sub to bond with.” 

Steve continues rubbing the brush in his hand against the bar of soap, shrugging, “I am, yeah.” He doesn’t say anything more, waiting for Sam to pick at his brain. 

“So, you’re...” Sam trails off, pulling his shirt over his head, “moving on?” 

This time Steve stops, looking over where Sam is putting his socks on, “I don’t know if it’s considered moving on when there was no real relationship before.”

Sam raises his eyebrow at him, not taking any of Steve’s shit, “Uh huh, I’ve heard too many weepy-drunk stories to believe a single word you’re saying.” 

Going back to washing his brushes Steve shrugs again, “Can’t be held accountable for what I said when I was drunk.” He doesn’t really want to talk about what was, or what could have been. Sam _is_ right, he’s trying to move on. Doesn’t mean he wants the entire world to know about the wartime love he had. 

“Well,” Sam says, getting up from the couch, “I think it’s good you’re moving on, even if that’s not what you’re calling it. You deserve to be happy, man.”

Steve just shrugs, shutting the water off, “I’m just ready to settle down, hopefully happiness comes with that.” He’s not sure if he can ever be as happy as he was before. Good thing is the Sub he’s interested in won’t know the difference. The Steve he is now is the one they’re going to get; not like they have any other version of himself to compare it to. 

“What do you know about the Sub you’re looking into?” Sam rounds the counter, grabbing a clean glass to fill with water. 

“His cousin is his Dom by law, he’s thirty, and a firefighter.” Steve leans his hip on the counter, facing Sam who’s drinking from the glass, “I don’t know much else about him, only heard about his Dom looking for a suitor through Tony.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, “Tony? You think he knows two things about what you’re interested in?” 

Steve snorts, “No, he mentioned it in passing. Said he’s decent friends with both the Dom and Sub, and that the Sub is like me.” He wouldn’t trust Tony with anything more than picking up bananas from the store, but he couldn’t help the interest that simmered when he heard there was an older Sub on the market. It’s hard to find someone older than twenty-five, let alone a thirty-year-old man. 

“Like you how?” Sam sets the glass down, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“A vet.” Steve says simply. Finding a veteran to settle down with was never a requirement for him, never something he thought to look for in a person. The benefit to this Sub being a vet, though, is that they’ll know what Steve’s gone through. They’ll be able to relate with each other, understand why crowds of people are anxiety inducing, why holidays like the Independence Day and New Years are so horrible. 

Sam’s eyebrows raise, “A Sub vet who’s interested in settling down? Well that’s an anomaly. You gonna’ be able to take care of someone else’s problems along with your own?” 

It’s a valid question, something he’s been mulling over since he sent the Dom an email indicating formal interest. He’s not sure that he’ll be the best one for this Sub, he’s not sure that he’ll be able to separate his own problems from his duties as a Dom, but he wants to try. 

“I think if I need help, I know who to ask.” Steve grins, “God knows you and Riley are like an old married couple at this point. 

Sam snorts, rolling his eyes, “Shut up, you’re just jealous that Riley’s mine and not yours.” 

“Riley knows I’m here for him the second he wants to divorce your ugly mug,” Steve chuckles, throwing a playful punch at Sam, “now how about we stop the heavy talk and go get some burgers.”

“Man after my own heart,” Sam says, pushing himself away from the counter, “I’ll call in the order if you pay?”

Steve grins, both of them have phone anxiety like no other, “Deal.”

* * *

The burgers are greasy and delicious. The fries are crispy but not burnt. Steve would marry the chef just to get these burgers made for him on the daily.

“So,” Riley starts, licking his fingers, “what’s this about you trying to settle down?”

Steve looks between Riley and Sam “When did Sam even have a chance to tell you? I’ve been here the entire time.”

“Dude,” Sam snorts, waving his phone at Steve, “there’s this little thing called texting, it’s like talking to someone but silent and in text form.”

Steve rolls his eyes, shoving a fry in his mouth and crossing his arms, “I sent a Domme an email about her by-law Sub.”

The smile that spreads across Riley’s face is so bright and happy that Steve wants to look away.

“That’s great! I heard that he was a vet, too?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, “I’d rather someone who knows the ins and outs of what it feels like to be back than someone completely clueless about it.”

Riley nods, “It is easier that way, do you know anything else about him?”

“Apparently he’s a fireman,” Sam grins, “which means he’s probably ripped.”

Steve snorts, throwing a fry at Sam, “You’re one to talk, mister no skipping ab day.”

Sam wiggles his eyebrows, “My Dom likes me looking like a Greek god, what can I say?”

“I wonder if we can find him on our own,” Riley says, ignoring the comment and looking over to Sam, “there can’t be that many fire stations in the area.”

“First of all, no.” Steve says, cutting that train of thought, “Second of all, I don’t know what borough he’s in and there’s got to be dozens of stations.”

“I’m Air Force, Steve,” Riley says, puffing his chest, “the smart military branch. You Army men might have potatoes for brains but not us Air Force. Which means I could one hundred percent find this guy.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Even though I have potatoes for brains,” he doesn’t deny it, “I still want it to be a surprise. I’ve heard the thrill is half the fun of finding a Sub this way.”

“The traditional way, you mean.” Sam corrects, “Lord knows there was no thrill or secrecy with Riley and I.”

Riley nods once, “Only two idiots who knew all the good hiding spots on base with superiors that turned a blind eye.”

Steve remembers sneaking around, but he also remembers getting told by commanding officers to keep it under wraps because Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was still a thing.

“Oh, the good old days.” Sam sighs, dreamily.

“Anyways, we’re happy for you and can’t wait to meet the poor guy that’s gonna’ be stuck with you.”

Steve smiles sheepishly, poking a fry with his finger, “Thanks guys, it means a lot.”

* * *

“I want to do it,” Bucky says dropping his duffle on the floor in front of the couch, “what do I have to do to get the ball rolling?”

Natasha raises her eyebrow, closing the book she was reading and setting it in her lap, “Hello to you too.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, throwing himself on the couch with a huff, “Nat, what do I gotta’ do?”

“Nothing,” She says, eyeing him, “the Dom does everything.”

“Do I get to meet them?” He asks, meeting her eyes, he doesn’t remember how any of this works. He never saw anyone go through it, never looked it up himself. 

She nods once, “Yeah, in a month or two. After some legal documents are handled, we set up a meeting where the three of us are present and can ask questions. 

Bucky scrunches his noes up, “What if I decide I don’t like them?”

“Then everything’s called off,” She rolls her eyes, “this isn’t the dark ages where you’re forced to marry someone you don’t like.”

Bucky shrugs, valid. He keeps his eyes on her face, looking to see if he can get anything out of her expressions, “And what happens if find I do like them?”

Natasha sighs, resigning the idea of getting back to her book, “Haven’t you see any shitty rom-coms? They cover all of this, you know.”

“Kinda’ been busy with life and work, never had the chance to brush up on pop culture.” Bucky doesn’t mention that he avoids them because the idealistic life that the characters have depresses him, he doesn’t mention the fact that his life was almost a rom-com before it became a drama with a horrible ending. Wartime lovers with one ending up dead and the other damaged? Probably wouldn’t be a good movie pitch, unless the director was Joe Wright.

“It’s your homework now to catch up on some of them.” She shifts on the couch facing to face Bucky, “If it turns out all parties like each other, then the courting process begins. Dates, gifts, meeting the family, all that nonsense.”

“Sex?” Bucky asks, wiggling his eyebrows, because _damn_ it’s been a hot minute since he’s had some good sex with a Dom. 

She narrows her eyes at him, “No, you’re supposed to wait. Not that I personally care about what you do in your free time, but his family might.”

“His,” Bucky repeats, “it’s a guy?” He doesn’t really care about gender, everyone’s attractive to him, but men? Well, they’re at the top of his list.

Natasha purses her lips, “That’s all you get to know, but yes, it’s a man.”

Bucky pokes her leg with his foot, “Is he hot?” 

Natasha just shrugs, opening the book in her lap, but the smirk on her lips tells a completely different story. 

“Is he tall?” Bucky asks, borderline whines. 

“I’ve already said too much,” She taps the page with her finger, “you’ll get to meet him soon enough.”

The thought sends butterflies to his stomach. He’ll get to meet the person who’s going to be his Dom in a month or two. Of course, he still feels guilt. He wishes with his entire soul that he could have been doing this with a completely different person, but he needs to move on. As hard as that is to accept, he needs to continue with his life not keep it held in place with the memories of a dead man.

“Will you finally be able to get your own Sub?” Bucky asks instead of dwelling on ideas of his own potential Dom, not that Natasha will tell him anything more. 

She looks up from her book at some spot on the wall and shrugs, “Haven’t really thought about it. Maybe.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, “Nobody’s piqued your interest?” 

Natasha shifts her gaze to him, “I don’t feel like being responsible for anyone.”

“There has to be other self-sufficient Subs out there, I can’t be the only one.” There’s a handful of Subs at the station, most of which aren’t bonded, all of which want to be their own person. He doesn’t know anyone that wants to bend to the will of a Dom, or that thinks a Dom’s word is final. He doesn’t look down at the people that do, but he can’t help but wonder how they’re happy having someone else dictate their life.

Natasha snorts, “For someone who claims to be self-sufficient you sure are a pain in my ass.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “You love me.”

“I guess,” Natasha shrugs, she looks over at Bucky, her eyes soft, “are you ready to be someone else’s Sub?”

He knows she means it as _not hers_ but he can’t help but feel a pang in his heart. During his time in the sandbox all he dreamed of was coming home and marrying that man. Pulling something similar to Carol and Maria, eloping and then dealing with the familial shit. He wanted to show his mom how well he did for himself, gossip with her and Becca over iced tea and cookies about their Doms. But all of that was taken away.

“I don’t know,” Bucky answers honestly, in response to both Natasha’s question and his own thoughts, “It’s going to be weird having to figure someone else out.”

Natasha nods, “From what I know about him—”

“Did you use your spy skills and dig into his past?” Bucky raises an eyebrow; he knows Natasha too well to know that’s exactly what she did. 

“From what I know about him,” she continues, “he’s not a bad guy, but we’ll learn more about his character as the meetings start.”

“In a month or two, you said?” He tries to push down his excitement, not wanting to seem like an overeager puppy. 

“A month or two,” She repeats, nodding, “there’s still some paperwork that needs to be figured out.”

A moment of silence passes. Both of them sitting on the couch, staring at the wall, thinking.

“How do you feel about all this?” Bucky asks, genuinely wanting to know what she’s feeling. Now she can move on with her life, get her own Sub that isn’t a family member. 

Natasha shrugs a shoulder, a thoughtful look crossing her face, “Happy for you, mostly, and also excited to get your ass out of my apartment.”

Bucky rolls his eyes again, “As if our schedules cross over that much.” 

On that note, Bucky pushes himself up from the couch and grabs his bag, “Wanna’ go out for Chinese buffet later? A food coma would be nice right about now.”

Natasha pats her stomach, thinking, “As long as you shower- you smell like metal.”

Bucky just grins, “The musk of a working man.”

She scrunches up her nose, “Gross, if a complacent Sub means they smell nice all the time then maybe I want one of those.”

Bucky keeps his grin on his face as he makes his way to his bedroom. If everything goes well, in less than a year he’ll be living with a Dom. He won’t have a room in Natasha’s apartment, but an apartment of his own. With his Dom. It’ll be different, but good he thinks. 

He pulls open the drawer in his nightstand, fishing out the box holding his Purple Heart. Bucky looks over his shoulder, making sure Natasha isn’t in the hallway, and opens the box slowly. The medal sits shiny and new in the box having only been worn once, but that’s not what he’s here for. He lifts the velvet covered plastic the medal is pinned to and pulls out the single dog tag. 

Quietly, Bucky walks over to his bedroom door and closes it. He goes back over to his bed and sits down, gently resting the medal beside him. He looks down at the tag in his hand, it’s battle worn and blackened but he can still see the name. He runs his finger over the raised letters, a ball forming in the back of his throat.

STEVEN G.  
ROGERS

07-04-1988

O NEGATIVE

CATHOLIC 

The small piece of metal is the only thing he has left to remember him. No photographs, no articles of clothing, just a small and impersonal bit of metal. He doesn’t know how the future is going to play out for him, if his Dom will let him have a moment to dwell over love lost, but he has this piece of metal and right now that’s all that matters. 

He raises it to his lips, kissing it gently, before putting it back in the box. 

Bucky hopes, with all his heart, that he’s making Steve proud while he looks down on him from the heavens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update should be Friday!
> 
> [Promo post!](https://sorrowingsoldier.tumblr.com/post/617482636564234240/rating-e-relationships-james-bucky)


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear Steven,_

_This is Natasha Romanov responding to your inquiry about my Submissive, James B. Romanov. He is interested in your offer and agrees for the courting to proceed._

_I have attached the legal forms to this email. Please let me know if you have questions or concerns regarding any of the documents._

_I await your correspondence._

_Natasha Romanov_

Steve’s heart flutters at the email, he doesn’t even care about the legal documents right now. He’s going to get to court a Sub, he may even marry him if it all works out. It’s exciting. He’s trying not to feel guilty, there’s no use, but it still pulls at his stomach. 

Should he be allowed happiness when the first Sub he loved romantically died? It’s an irrational question, but still one poking at the back of his brain. 

Steve shakes his head and pulls out his phone, calling the first person he wants to tell about this. 

“Hi honey,” Sarah Rogers answers, her voice soft and bright. 

Steve smiles into his phone, “Hi Ma, I got some good news.”

“Oh?” He hears her walking through the house, probably going into a quieter room, “And what’s this good news?” 

The smile on Steve’s face is so wide it hurts, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering so much he has to press a hand to it, “I’m going to start courting a Sub.”

The gasp from the other line is one of joy, “That’s such good news, Steven, tell me more.” 

“I don’t know much,” Steve answers honestly, “you know how it goes. But his name is James, probably Russian with a last name like Romanov, and he’s about thirty.”

Sarah hums into the line, probably nodding, “And how did you hear about this young man?”

“Remember Tony? Crazy billionaire engineer?” Steve leans back into his desk chair, staring at the ceiling.

“I don’t think there’s a person on this planet that doesn’t know who Tony Stark is,” Sarah says, huffing.

“Well,” Steve continues, trying to ignore that Tony is famous, “he’s friends with the Domme by law. Said she was looking for a Dom that was okay with a Sub that’s a bit more self-sufficient and told me I’d get along well him.”

“Did you see any pictures of him?”

“You know that’s against the rules.” Steve chides. He does wish he got to see a picture. Tony offered, said the guy’s hot in a dangerous-looking way, but he declined. He’s not about to start breaking the rules and get on the Dom’s bad side. 

Sarah just laughs, “I know, doesn’t mean I didn’t sneak some photos of your father before I courted him.” 

“Of course, you did, Ma, but I’m trying to go about this the right way.” He shrugs a shoulder, “Don’t want to mess something good up.”

“How are you feeling about it all?” Her voice softens, “I know losing your last Sub was hard, and I know you still feel things about it.”

Steve shifts, no longer looking at the ceiling but the floor. He told his mom everything when he woke up to her in the hospital with him. He couldn’t keep that kind of pain bundled up, not when he was just told hours before that the person he loved the most died in an explosion that he was supposed to be the only one involved in, “I think he’d be proud of me. I think he’s been wanting me to move on, as much as it hurts to.”

“I think so too, honey. When you truly love someone, you want the best for them.”

“Yeah,” Steve responds, sighing. He knows his mom is right, but he’s an irrational person. 

“I have to go to work soon but call me with more updates.” Sarah says, “Do you have any trips to Brooklyn planned?” 

“No, but I can head up any time.” He swivels around in his chair, looking at the calendar hanging on his wall, “It’s not like taking a train from Manhattan is a hard feat.”

“It might as well be from how little I see you,” Sarah says with a laugh.

Steve grins, “I’m an artist with a loose schedule, you on the other hand are the best nurse that hospital has. If anyone needs to clear their schedule it’s you.”

“I am the best nurse in the hospital,” Sarah agrees, “speaking of- I need to leave the house now if I’m planning on being on time.”

“Of course, be safe and have a good day at work.”

“Love you, Steve, call me if you need anything.”

“Always,” Steve responds, before ending the call. He looks at the now-dimmed screen of his desktop and moves the mouse to brighten it again. The documents are pretty standard, nothing outrageous or wild about what the Romanovs want. He makes a note to call his lawyer later, wanting to get this process done as soon as he can so he can meet his Sub. 

And isn’t that a thought?

 _His_ Sub. 

It makes warmth swirl low in his gut, the simple idea arousing on its own. 

Steve takes in a deep breath and shakes his head. There’s no time for his head to fall in the gutter, he’s got things to do and people to call.

* * *

The paperwork is as simple as he assumed. Since they’re in the beginning stages it’s nothing complicated. General information and signatures, nothing like creating contracts or rules for the relationship. 

He doesn’t even know how to go about doing that. 

Are there how-to videos online? Could he ask Riley? Is that something too personal to ask about?

Steve shakes his head, grabbing the last document from the scanner and sitting back at his desk. 

It’s odd how clinical the courting process is. It feels like going to the doctor’s office or signing forms to buy a car. All birthdays and last two addresses. He’s surprised the Romanov’s didn’t want his credit score or last year’s taxes. 

Most families want to make sure the Dom-to-be isn’t about to take the Sub and family for all they’re worth. Steal all their assets and hop on the next plane to Cuba. It’s usually standard procedure, standard practice, that both the Dom and Sub are in similar income brackets. 

Steve sighs not wanting to get too lost in the sauce on why this Domme isn’t asking for more information than what he’d use to create an email. There could be plenty of reasons, his ex-Army brain just happens to be jumping to the worst of them. 

He rubs his face with his hands, sighing, before getting up from his desk. Everything has been signed and sent. Now all he has to do is wait. 

Might as well get some art out of this bubble of anxious and angsty energy.

* * *

Bucky’s so tired he can feel it in his bones. The exhaustion from the day weighing him down, the scent of smoke thick on his clothes and skin. All he wants to do is kick his boots off and sleep, pass out for fifty years, but he still has another twelve-hour shift to get through. 

“Hey Bucky,” Scott sighs, plopping down on the concrete next to him, “do you feel like you ran a thousand miles? And then did a hundred burpees after?”

Bucky would look over at Scott, initiate their secret handshake, but he doesn’t want to spare any precious energy, “Haven’t had a fire that big in a while, hate to say it but I’m feeling a little rusty.” The fire was at a local restaurant, something happened with the gas stove and oil. Of course, some of the employees tried to put it out with water. They haven’t had a chance to analyze it yet and settle on an official cause, but anyone with an ounce of experience and eyes know it was the addition of water that made it lose control the way it did. 

“I think we’re all rusty,” Scott agrees, untying the laces from his boots, “need to get some more drills in during the week or something.”

Bucky just nods, too tired to do anything else. They’re waiting for the last flames to be put out, Bucky and Scott were the first ones in and got tapped out first. While he appreciates their consideration for how much energy he has, he also wishes they left him in there. The adrenaline from the fire would still be running through his veins, and thus would mean he wouldn’t be able to feel how tired he actually is. 

“Barnes, Lang!”

Bucky looks over at the sound of Carol’s voice, he raises his eyebrows, knowing full and well she can’t see them behind his helmet. 

She waves them over, “You and the rest of the first responders can head back to the station and clean up. We’ve got the rest covered; we’ll have a debriefing later.”

Bucky pushes himself up with a loud groan, sticking a hand out to help Scott up. 

“Thanks, man,” Scott claps him on the shoulder, “I was really doubting my ability to beat gravity and get off the floor.”

Bucky snorts, moving towards Carol with the thought of a shower as his only motivator, “Gravity sure is a bitch sometimes.”

“Don’t I know it,” Scott agrees, falling into silence as they zombie-walk their way to the van.

The trip back to the station isn’t long, but he can feel himself nodding off, only noticing what he’s doing when Scott elbows him in the side. 

Bucky looks at the clock on the dashboard, it’s closer to midnight than eleven. He’s got every right to feel tired. 

He makes quick work of taking his gear off when he gets back to the station. Shoving everything in his locker knowing full and well he’ll be annoyed with himself in the morning for not organizing it. Before he goes and locks himself in a shower stall, Bucky decides to check his phone. 

It takes the screen a second to light up, a group photo of the station greeting him as his lock screen. For a moment, Bucky thinks he doesn’t have any notifications waiting for him and sums it up to no news being good news. Then a group of texts show up on the screen, and Bucky’s heart starts racing. 

**Nat: Just got an email back from the lawyer**

**Nat: Your suitor has agreed to our terms, both lawyers signed off on the paperwork**

**Nat: Let me know the next time you’re off so we can schedule a meeting. He lives in Manhattan**

It takes four rereads for Bucky to fully comprehend them. 

His suitor agreed to his terms. The legal nonsense is done. They can finally meet. 

He can finally meet the person he might marry. 

Something in him, maybe his fight or fight instincts, is yelling at him to run. To get a bus ticket and get out of Brooklyn and never come back. He knows how to do it, how to fall into the deep and never come out, but Natasha knows that world better than he does. She’d find him and slap him on the back of the head for being an idiot. Plus, he’d feel guilty for all the work the lawyers did.

Bucky knows he’s being irrational. He is the one that agreed to move forward with everything, but he can’t help the panic that’s building in his chest. The way he feels like it’s squeezing his ribs tight like a vise. 

With shaky hands he finds Natasha’s contact and dials, not caring that it’s almost midnight. 

“On a scale from one to ten how much are you freaking out right now?” Natasha asks, skipping pleasantries because she knows his ass way too well. 

Bucky sighs, sitting down on the bench in front of his locker, “About a nine, three seconds from buying a Grey Hound ticket to Boulder and living among the trees.”

“The trees won’t accept a city boy like you,” She says, the eyeroll audible, “have you taken some deep breaths? Thought about a calming ocean? Sniffed some lavender?” 

“You’re such a douche,” Bucky says, taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes, “That stuff actually helps some people.”

“Not anyone privy to this conversation,” Natasha replies, sounding completely awake despite the time, “and this is a secure line so I’m not offending some government agent’s mental health routine.” 

“What if I’m not ready, Nat?” Bucky asks, skipping the banter because he needs some words of wisdom. Something to bring him down from the panic attack on the horizons. 

“Then we take it slower,” She responds, her voice softer, “we have the first meeting and go from there. Or we can start with gift and letter writing, no need to meet just yer.”

He presses a hand to his chest. Imagining he was clutching his dog tags, pressing the cold metal to his sternum. He takes in another steady breath, exhaling slowly before asking, “You think this is gonna work out? He won’t head for the hills with all my bullshit?”

Natasha hums, thinking on it for a moment, “From what I know—”

“From what you spied on,” Bucky corrects, knowing he’s crawling out of his panic induced hole if he can bring himself to banter with Natasha. 

“From what I know,” Natasha repeats, stressing her words, “he has his own bullshit. Enough of it that there’s little blacked out lines I can’t get to.”

That makes Bucky raise his eyebrows, opening his eyes to stare at his locker, “He’s got confidential files? And you’re still gonna let him court me?” He’s gotta admit, someone with confidential files is interesting. It makes him want to get to know the guy, learn his secrets, employ his old skills. The rational part of his brain throws up its warning flag, making him question what he did that the government put little black boxes over text. The guy could be an axe murderer for all Bucky knows, and he’s too attractive to be killed off by an axe.

“We don’t know what he did, and we can both get a read off of him when we meet him.”

Bucky nods, “True, because I can call this off at any time… Right?”

“You can call this off at any time,” Natasha agrees. 

Bucky worries at his bottom lip, “Can we hold off on the initial meetings? Maybe do the courting stuff first?” He doesn’t want to jump into something without any background first. What if he meets the guy and flips out? What if they really just don’t get along? There are too many variables for him to consider in such a short amount of time. He needs to stall a little.

“We can do that. I just have to send another email and set up a PO box for him to send stuff too.” Her voice is kind, she doesn’t throw in any quips about Bucky being a baby, nor does she force him to do something he doesn’t want to do. He doesn’t know why he was concerned in the first place.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, the tightness in his chest subsiding, “yeah, let’s do that.”

Natasha hums in agreeance, probably writing a note to herself, “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, “you know how it is.”

“I do,” there’s a beat, “I also know you’re all gross after that fire so go shower and take care of yourself. That’s an order.” 

Emotional time over.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Fine, but not because you ordered me. I’m doing all that because I was planning on it anyways before your texts sent me spiraling.” 

“Sure, Bucky.” Natasha replies, with that ending the call. 

Bucky drops his phone beside him on the bench and rubs at his face with his hands. It’s all happening. He didn’t doubt that it _wouldn’t_ happen, more that he didn’t realize it would be this quick. The weeks leading up to this felt like days, and he hasn’t been hung up on the topic like he thought he’d be. Fleeting thoughts here and there, nothing like the rom-coms he’s been watching where their Dom is all that’s on their mind. 

He pushes himself up from the bench and stretches, groaning, a hot shower and a couple minutes with his feet propped up and he’ll be good as new.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from [Turning Page by Sleeping At Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Cry85KUzzU) cause the Twilight Saga's soundtrack slaps and that's 100% a stucky song. 
> 
> [My tumblr!](https://sorrowingsoldier.tumblr.com/)


End file.
